


Ab Aeterno

by shibesvevo



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2009, 2012, 2015 - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Possessive!Phil, Time Travel, and all the other important years, divine intervention, like really possessive its ridiculous
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-14 15:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8018998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shibesvevo/pseuds/shibesvevo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An end. A crash. A chance to correct Phil Lester’s biggest mistake: loving Dan Howell.</p><p>Or, where they get involved in a car accident and travel back seven years earlier. Or, the one where Phil looks at Dan and thinks, "God, the places we'll go."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> warning: death, swearing, a ridiculous amount of cringe and D&P going ooc. originally posted on [tumblr.](http://shibes-lester.tumblr.com)

The cab back home was silent. Only the whir of the air-conditioning and the passing lights blurred by the swiftness of their transportation humored their tired eyes and sullen skin. His gaze was transfixed on the reddened hues of the orange sunset stretched above the vast cityscape of London. The sun was in its shining glory— it looked more of a perpetual end to everything, and less than a precipice of an oncoming calamity.

Phil’s sitting next to Dan. Their hands were touching. Not intertwined, only by the ends of their fingers, but that contact was enough to shoot electricity down their veins. No matter how cliché that sounded. After all these years, it still had that connection. A sense of security. A message of I’m never going away.

The younger boy stared out the window, trying to hide the tears falling from his face as he reflected the conclusion of their tour. _Thank you for coming to see us!_ He had said. _This has been Dan and Phil of the internet!_ Like it would always be Dan and Phil of the internet, because that’s how it’s meant to be, wasn’t it?

Phil closed his eyes, eager to meet the comfort of their flat. He could already feel the softness of his bed, the smell of coffee in their kitchen. He could already see Dan in their lounge, trying to show him some meme he found on tumblr. Then himself, bursting into laughter.

He looked up to the sun, now only peeking at the horizon as it sunk under the hemisphere of another nation. In that moment, when two clouds formed an eclipse to be shined over by the sliver of the morning star, he felt like god is watching him. Inside the gathered precipitation was a man, and he was telling him ‘you do not deserve this’.

 _I know_ , he wanted to say.  _I know_.

The sun seemed to stare back with a lingering, daunting gaze. 'No, you don’t.’

Eyes closed, breathes heaved. The hiss of the tires over the smooth road sounded more audible, and then, all too suddenly, it was deafening.

_What the—_

There’s no time to react. In a second they were moving, in the next they were **_crashing_**.

The car screeched as they hit the wrong side of the road. Gravity dragged them together, skin on skin on skin on the seatbelt trying to keep them in place. Useless. The bodies jerked off into different directions in time with the hollering of their cab, the cartwheel of the lights,the merry-go-round of everything, and Phil was feeling motion sick but that’s not what’s important.

An unsuspecting pole stopped their motion. (Maybe it stopped their beating heart, too.)

“999? My car crashed! We’re at-” The driver miraculously escaped unharmed. The passengers were in bad condition. There’s ambulance noise in the distance. Red lights flickered over the city’s dimmed streets as its noise warned the crowd to make way. Eyes were averted but only barely.

“Aren’t they that duo?”

“AmazingPhil and danisnotonfire?”

Nerves were cut. Phil’s neck was stuck in-between windows, eyes wide open and forced to see. Dan had his head smashed to the front seat, living, but not for long. The damage was too severe. Too much blood was lost. They’d never make it to the hospital, but people would try.

The nurses came running to collect the body. They hurriedly pushed their way into the scene, through the crowd, and into the accident. They gasped, “Oh, god, have mercy,” And yes, may god have mercy.

There’s a camera in front of them now. It caught every second on tape. Every angle. Every detail. He wanted to smile despite himself. Who knew even the last moments of their life would be recorded? “Hey guys,” he could almost hear himself say,“I’m so sorry.”

A tight-uniformed BBC reporter stood with a wavering gaze. “Dan Howell, twenty-five, and Phil Lester, twenty-nine, were involved in a car crash at six thirty in the evening on Portobello Road—“

The driver was forced into an interview. Tears welled at his eyes, as he shook his head at every accusation.  "I did nothing wrong! The car suddenly stopped and-”

“Explain it to the police.”

A voice. It was different than the hushed condolences passed through mouths of strangers.

'This would’ve never happened if you just accepted that Dan isn’t for you, Phil. There’s truly nothing more disgraceful than a man crowning himself for the glory he was never destined to have.’

Then there was death. And light. His last thoughts were ‘I know’ before there was nothing else.

 

  01: on our way home. 

“Manchester-Picadilly Station, Manchester-Picadilly Station!”

Phil opened his eyes. People walked around like ants crawling their way to respective destinations, bumping into each other but blind enough to never notice. He heard the progressive murmurs and the train tracks leading to one place or another. He could smell the odor of sweat hanging in the air, mixed with grease and dirt from the weather outside.

Phil was confused. There’s a nagging sense at the back of his head, a spinning sensation that made him see thrice. In the uncontrollable movement all he saw were a blur of people trudging haphazardly, as their shoulders pushed him forward and forward and he hadn’t gathered the will to stop because _what the hell is happening?_

His breathing was erratic. His heart was loud, too heavy in his ribcage. Just the pressure in his chest and the pain that came with it validated the fact that this was no dream.

He paused, which caused a counter flow in swerving directions. His mind was fuzzy and the constant motion wasn’t helping his train of thoughts. He ran his hand through his hair, as nails dug into his scalp harshly. He felt the tips of his hair flow halfway down his cheeks, catching locks of it in his fist because oh god— Manchester Piccadilly station, this hair, and when he looked at his clothes he realized that, _oh god, I haven’t worn these in years._

He cupped his face in pure confusion, trying to deny the fact stood right in front of him. His phone vibrated in his pocket and his hands shook as he input the pin. The clock displayed 12:35pm. The calendar blinked with October 19, 2009.

 **From** : Bear  
_Just one more stop! I’m finally going to meet you! :D <3_

He wanted to throw away his phone because, hell, _this isn’t real, is it?_ Instead, he gripped on it hard enough it might break. His vision spun once more, as his breathing deepened and tears flowed. He tried to make up excuses to disprove the most possible and obvious one.

Phil squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to disbelieve but reality came crashing down when he heard the train pass and the bitter taste of bile rose to his throat. It hit him hard, rough, and too raw. _It’s real._

‘This is another chance in life.’ He heard someone. ‘You have seven years to live again, and no matter what you do you’re going to die on that day… not unless you change your ways.’

There was a slight pause, a moment of silence and hesitation.

“What?” he murmured under his breath. He must be hearing things. This is all an illusion, he thought. /p>

‘Youu don’t remember?’ he heard it again. It sounded taunting, haunting and all in all familiar.

His eyes widened. _“_ I don't--” the last moments came flashing back like a tidal wave of ice showering through the bones of his body, chilling him whole as cold sweat trickled down his forehead. Cracked limbs. Broken joints. Bleeding skin. Bruises— “We died.” The words tasted bitter on his mouth, like the blood seeping out of his teeth as they crashed on a pole.

‘But you can prevent it. Just do as I say.’

Phil stopped. The heaviness of his head was still apparent and he struggled to form coherent thoughts. Thinking was getting him nowhere and despite the seemingly impossibility of the situation he’s coming to terms with the truth. Not that he’d admit. “I don’t believe you.”

‘Of course you don’t.’ Somehow, he could sense a suppressed laugh in that tone.

“Huh?” But there’s no more response. “Hey!” He shouted a bit too loudly, causing the commuters to shoot concerned glances at the man talking to himself. He didn’t care. “What the fuck!” He shouted. He could feel police officers glaring at him and he calmed himself before he combusted one more time.

 _We died. We died. We died_. The very thought was frightening to acknowledge. _We died—_

His phone vibrated again, signaling another message from Dan.

 **From** : Bear  
_I’m so excited!!! ^_^_

One minute.

 **From** : Bear  
_Talk to me plz. ;-;_

Another minute.

 **From** : Bear  
_Hey, are you there..?_

I’m here. I’m _here_. Oh god, I’m here. We’re alive. In this moment, _we’re alive._

 **To** : Bear  
_Yeah! Sorry for not replying, some man was looking at me weirdly o_O. Maybe I looked so attractive he couldn’t help it? xD_

Somehow, typing that out felt more painful than the jab of metal during the crash.

 **From** : Bear  
I wouldn’t be surprised to be honest. ;3

Phil was taken aback. The striking bluntness was a refreshing experience, although the honesty was keeping Dan off brand. He chuckled.He wiped the tears and let out a smile. It was cracked and a bit forced. Now, his mind’s a bit clearer, and his breathing was steady. He could feel the blood in his veins, the muscles in his body. His consciousness brought relief. _We died, but we’re alive. ****_

_Shouldn’t that be what matters most? ****_

His phone vibrated again.

 **From** : Bear  
_I’m here! Where are you?_

He walked.

He knew where to find him. The memory was engraved in his head. He’d be leaning on the third pillar, across the second train. His hands would be inside his pockets. Earphones were plugged in his ears, playing Muse. He’s going to wear bright plaid clothes because he knew Phil likes them. He’d straighten his hair though, because no matter how much Phil said he loved how curly it was Dan would never be convinced.

He went slowly but surely. He would be there. He always was.

_God, it really is a second chance, isn’t it?_

Phil walked past the first pillar. Then the second. Then the third-

_There you are._

Just like how he said he’d be.

Dan saw Phil. His features were young. His smile was shy, crooked, but still there. He looked at him like he was the whole world and everything in it.

They looked at each other. It was chocolate over glass. Beauty was in those brown eyes. Admiration, maybe. A spark, probably. His orbs were never dull. Phil could waste an eternity staring at them. Maybe he already did.

“Hello, bear.” The nostalgia got the better of Phil. He smiled a bit too widely. All his confusions were cleared. All his doubting had stopped.

“Hello, lion.” Dan grinned from ear to ear. He dashed towards Phil, giving him a tight hug. It was warm, nice and enveloping.

Phil hugged back. There’s something in their embrace that made everything feel perfect. Like all was forgotten. Like nothing was wrong and nothing could go wrong.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” He asked off-handedly. Because god, he’s actually in front of him. Living. Breathing. And surely this isn’t supposed to be the best thing that ever happened but it _is_.

“Only, like, a billion times.” Dan cracked a smile that would par the crescent moon. “I love you too, you spoon.” And god, Phil missed this feeling— the year of 2009, when they could say whatever they want, uncensored, just as themselves. Because the world didn’t care for Dan and Phil. Not yet.

The two linked arms and walked together. Grinning.Irrelevant to the world. Whoever said they weren’t in love is wrong.

“Hey, Phil.”

“Yeah?”

“Why do I feel like this already happened before?”

But it’s only for a while that people can stay as they are before being impended by the natural reality.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: forced conversations and swearing. also dogs. originally posted on tumblr.

“I’m giving you another chance, Phil Lester.” a voice so deep and dignified boomed to his ears. It was familiar, he’s heard it before.

The place was a crumbling mass of everything they’ve ever done— the super amazing project, the internet takeover, hosting of the Brits, voicing of Big Hero Six, their book, their app, their tour… friendship built over the mutual interest of ‘Dan and Phil’. Everything was encumbering, breaking into pieces beyond repair.

It wasn’t a place he knew of. It was beyond the clouds and stars, above everything else but just beneath grace. Under his bare feet was an empty, infinite distance between earth and something else.

Phil wandered past the broken stage, into the mass of disposed cameras and lost memory cards. He found himself stood next to a pile of unseen content and unedited footage. They were mostly videos of him and Dan, their faces streaked with contentment as the pair casually sat in the lounge, or guilt and annoyance when Phil munched on dry cereal.

He stopped as he caught a glimpse of someone else— a man. He was shining so brightly and Phil couldn’t make out much of his face. “He was never meant for you. None of this was ever meant for you.” He said. “If destinies had entwined right, this never would have happened.”

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t respond. His lips were tightly shut and he wouldn’t dare opening.

“But because of your selfishness, one had lost their true purpose.” He sighed. “Don’t make the same mistake twice. Let go of Dan Howell.”

 

02: against all odds

 

Phil woke up a panting mess. There’s an audible, sharp intake of breath as his eyelids fluttered unceremoniously to greet the harsh morning light. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead. Phil’s eyes darted around the room as he took in his surroundings.

_Another chance?_

He was in his old home back in Manchester. The peeling paint on the wall was familiar. The broken bulb flickered. Packets of crisps laid with the controllers from last night’s shenanigans. Somehow, he expected it to be part of a dream. He knew it wasn’t. He thought, _I’m back in time_ , but it didn’t register in his head.

_Letting go?_

His thoughts betrayed him as they escaped his attempt of recollection. There’s a bitter aftertaste of what seemed to be a nightmare left in the deepest part of his brain and he couldn’t find in him the will to dig it up.

_Dan?_

He’s there, and just his presence melted the harsh pounding in his ribcage and replaced it with a wonderful fluttering instead. The warm body was pressed against him, breathing evenly on his chest with legs in-between Phil’s.

Dan stirred a little due to Phil’s sudden jolt of consciousness, shivering as the cold weather bit his exposed flesh. It was a few more minutes of his rising and falling chest and Phil’s slightly creepy staring of the scene before he finally yawned awake. His eyes opened slowly to meet Phil’s as he smiled groggily. “Hey, you,” he greeted.

“Hey,” Phil said back. “Is that how you say good morning in Brighton?”

“No, but it’s how I say I love you in Dan.”

Phil blew a gust of breath into Dan’s curly fringe. “I bet you say I love you to everyone then.” The older then positioned his chin on the other’s mess of a hair. They laid in understanding silence, letting the engines of cars and steady chirps of birds take on the responsibility of filling the moment.

“You’re literally the only person I talk to though.” Dan didn’t know how long they stayed in that position, but he knew how wonderful it was to bask in each other’s comfortable skin as they breathed in synchronized motion.

“We should get breakfast.”

“It’s twelve, you weirdo.” Dan laughed, looking up at him. Phil’s eyes looked mature, he realized, like they were older than his age. More defined, probably, with a sense of wistfulness of misbelonging. Like the shining blue orbs weren’t his. “But yes, breakfast.”

They stood up, successfully untangled themselves from each other, and stretched a bit to flex. Phil walked towards the kitchen as Dan propped himself comfortably on the sofa, turning the telly on. He grabbed a box of frosted shreddies and madebowls of cereal with milk for Dan and himself. They ate in the living room, the static voice of the weatherman as their background. The crudeness of the TV made Phil appreciate how far technology has gone in the past seven years.

“So, what are we going to do today?” The younger boy asked in-between mouthfuls of soggy cereal.

Phil thought for a while, as he munched noisily at his portion. “Explore?” Dan beamed. His eyes twinkled with childlike glee. “Explore it is.”

It felt surreal to Phil. How, due to Dan’s constant channel surfing, he’d seen an ad for the new contestants of Britain’s Got Talent. It didn’t feel new at all. By now, he’s seen everything. How Susan Boyle will win. How it’ll be funny and amazing at the same time. Just like in his current life.

_Just like in my current life._

It just occurred to him— how he could make decisions with the knowledge of what was better than the other due to the fact that he’s seen the consequences. He wasn’t sure if it’s a blessing or a curse. After all, it came with the privilege of knowing what’s bound to happen next. And the undeniable fact was this: the universe is going to take everything away from him in the end. It’s nauseating to realize he’s going to experience it twice.

“Would you like some coffee?” he offered, disrupting Dan’s monologue about Matt Bellamy’s ‘really awesome vocals’. His eyes always lit up when he talked about Muse, Phil observed through the years. He got really into it every time, with hand gestures and a raised voice. To think he’s going to experience being with Dan twice made it seem worth the bitter end.

“Yes, please.”

He got up, poured coffee into a mug and added three teaspoons of creamer and one cube of sugarunconsciously. He swirled and handed it to Dan.

“How did you know how I like my coffee?” The younger boy asked as he sipped, inhaling the glorious scent of roasted beans.

Ah, how did he? Muscle memory? How can you have a memory of something that hasn’t happened yet? “I just guessed.”

Breakfast lasted longer than Phil remembered.Maybe it was due to his constant spacing out, of his constant reality check and constant ideas of places where Dan might like going. In the past, they just shut themselves in and watched several seasons of Buffy. While it seems tempting, Phil wants to make the most of their time. If what the voice had told him was true, he only had seven years before the inevitable would happen. It may sound long, but it wasn’t when you realize it’s all you had left.

After they took respective showers and prepared themselves, the two set out to the wondrous streets of Manchester. Fortunately, it was a lively day. The pavement was littered with bystanders keeping themselves from cold with thick coats and multiple scarves. The city was lost in a sort of old and fragile haze, a doing of the browned leaves dotting the streets in an amble way.

As the bitter wind blew, leaves followed. Civilians shivered and Dan took ahold of Phil’s hand, their fingers intertwined. It was the sort of warmth unavailable to mufflers and gloves no matter how comfortable. It was the warmth exclusive to the two, irreplaceable by blankets or any other person’s palm.

“That’s where the queen lives.” He said, pointing at a tall red-bricked building.

“Of course, Phil,” Sarcasm dripped in his tone as he rolled his eyes fondly.

They passed various shops that didn’t seem interesting. Phil led Dan to the crowded tube and through the twist and turns of the city.

Twenty minutes later, they made their way into the busy and colorfully-lit arcade and Dan’s tried real hard to not drool at the view. People played various games, some competed and some collected tickets. Profanities were thrown around carelessly by enraged players, paired with frustrated rambling under their breaths.

“I bet you 5 quid I can beat your ass in DDR.” Dan challenged, eyeing a pad similar to what they had in London. Or what they would have had, if you reconsidered the timeline.

“I’d like to see you try.” He scoffed proudly, knowing all too well he’s going to be defeated. “FYI, they called me Lighting Legs Lester in the north.”

Dan laughed. “Sure they did.”

A girl finished her performance on the pad, only to be replaced by the two. They positioned themselves as the machine lit up with life. Phil pretended to warm up, doing awfully-coordinated jumping jacks as Dan’s too embarrassed to stop him. Dan proceeded to hit the song he’s most familiar with.

“That’s not fair!” Phil huffed, “You should get a handicap or something.”

“What? Is Lightning Legs afraid?”

Phil stuck out a tongue. “Lightning legs just wants justice!”

The song started easy, with just two buttons to direct his feet to. The alternating sequence gave the faint idea that made Phil think he could keep up. What level ten difficulty? This is a piece of— yeah, right.

He’s a man of many talents and DDR obviously wasn’t one. The first verse ended with ease, but only quite so before the chorus began (Keep on, keep on, keep on,keep on moving!). And shit, Phil’s too unfit for this. It’s fast and tedious and he’s only getting misses.

Dan, however, looked like he was having fun as he tapped his sole rhythmically to the bear. “Up, up, down, down and jump.” He murmured to himself. “Jump, jump, jump!”

Phil huffed. He tried to keep up, but his attempts only got worse. He jumped late in time, sometimes too advanced. Shame.And when he thought all had gone from bad to worse, the song continued to go faster and faster and Phil’s so tired and seriously, how could Dan have fun in this sort of torture?

“Bloody hell, this is hard.”

“What’s hard?” Dan grinned. With a smile as wide as that, it’s no doubt he’s basking in his apparent and glorified win (or Phil’s predicted lost).

Phil rolled his eyes. He’s grateful that at least there weren’t too many people watching them or else he’d be a laughingstock by now.

“Hey, isn’t that AmazingPhil?” Someone recognized. Of course the universe just had to be against him. She whipped up her phone and if Phil wasn’t reddened enough from playing DDR, he probably was from the embarrassment he got as the girl proceeded to record his attempt to Dance Dance.

Quite a crowd had gathered to watch Phil make a fool out of himself. Great. He could already see #DorkDorkRevolution trend tonight.

“Who’s the other guy?” another piped up, referring to the brunet. “He’s good.”

“Boyfriend, probably,” And he swore he saw the way Dan missed a few steps. Phil smiled smugly despite himself.

“Left, right, left, right,” Dan continued to mumble.

“Your words aren’t going to help you!” Phil taunted, now breathing heavily from all theunwanted exercise.

“You aren’t doing much to help yourself anyway!”

They danced and the crowd cheered until the song faded to an end. Soon, the crowd dispersed and the scoreboards were up. Dan won and Phil didn’t need to convince himself that he did his best because he knew he gave up halfway.

“Haha! You suck!” Dan said.

“I should’ve tied your feet!” It’s fine, he guessed, as long as he got to see Dan’s nose crinkle as he laughed and celebrated too much. Damn. _Was I really this cheesy in 2009?_

Dan snorted. “My 5 quid, Philip?” The older man was still trying to catch his breath. Too much effort was wasted on that stupid machine. “How about I treat you to Shakeaway instead?” He said in-between series of deep heaves.

“What’s that place?”

“It’s where dreams come alive.”

And so they did. After playing for at ay least half an hour with Phil losing thrice in Mortal Kombat (‘Are you treating me like a chick, Phil?’) and Dan losing all the games after (‘What were you saying, Dan?’), the pair made their way to the milk shake palace.

The place didn’t have much of customer appeal based on the number of people ordering, but it did smell good. The fragrance of sugary sweets thrown with different others wafted in the tiny space of Shakeaway. Dan ordered a mix of Maltesers blended with butterscotch. Phil had a cross between strawberries and Oreo. They took their drinks outside, deciding to finish it while sitting at the park.

The two strolled lazily by the grassy fields covered in a thin layer of dried, decaying foliage. Their feet made an evident pitter-patter sound as the dead leaves crush at the contact. Dan and Phil sat on the wooden bench and watched children play around, chasing each other under the chilly umbrella of clouds.

They sipped in silence, watching the girl run away from a boy holding up an innocent frog. ‘Eek!’ she screamed, tripping on her feet. They boy immediately let go of the animal and helped her up, guilty of his actions. The girl pushed him away in mockery. Of course. Whoever generalized children as pure and innocent had no idea.

“I’ve always wanted kids.” Dan suddenly said.

Phil tried to keep a straight face. This wasn’t a conversation to have so early. “Oh?”

“Yeah, like two to three children.”

“I’d better start saving up adoption fees then.” He went with it.

“I won’t let you father my kids.” Dan snorted. “I don’t date dorks, thank you very much.”

“I also don’t, but I made a special exception today.”

If Dan blushed, he tried to hide it. “I have standards too.”

“The standard is me.”

“Stop flattering yourself.”

“Good looks, king of the universe, and a degree. What else do you want?”

“DDR skills,” he smiled smugly, looking at Phil. “You didn’t even get a D, how are you expecting to get my D?”

“I won’t.” he scoffed. “I know for sure you got an A for ass because we know you’re a B, bottom.”

“You’re such a… I don’t know anymore,” The younger boy bursted with what seemed to be a cross between a laugh and a snort.

“I’m husband material.” Phil supplied.

“Please!” He tried to calm down. “Our kids are gonna learn so much about the alphabet from you.”

“Of course! I’m also a great teacher.”

“Sure you are.” Sarcasm’s present, the stifling of giggle was apparent and useless.

“Don’t talk like I didn’t give you the best editing tips, young man.”

“C is for cnarcissist.”

“I finished English and I’m sure there’s no such word.”

“Fight me, I’m a lawyer.” There was a short pause. Ah, yes. This Dan hasn’t given up yet.

He wondered what’d happen if he told him— if he said that law really wasn’t up his alley and that YouTube would really appreciate him in the community. He wondered what’d happen if he told him that he should never give up. What if Dan got a real job, not some risky channel that depended on an unsure audience as an income?

Phil quickly disregarded the thought. It didn’t sound right at all, if there was just Phil and no Dan by his side.

“But really,” Dan said. “I’ll be the best father ever.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” He smiled wistfully. “I’ll dress them up in Winnie the Pooh onesies, they’ll own the best toys. They’re going to be spoiled rotten.”

“You also have to change their diaper.”

“You do that.”

“And why would I?”

“Because I’m a very busy person, _dear_ ,” He stressed the word as if to tease. “I have clients waiting for me at the firm and you’re the house husband who vlogs about our kids.”

“I want a divorce.” Phil pouted. “And custody to Sylvester Lester.”

“Tsk,” Dan clicked his tongue. “I was the better father!” They laughed in fits of giggles. A bubbly, gentle and genuine laugh no one could doubt. “Can’t wait for it to actually happen though.”

Almost immediately, the older man’s smile fell. _There’s nothing to wait for_ , he didn’t say. _We never made it_.

There were no more children to mute their silence and all that wasleft was the soft howl of autumn wind and rustling leaves. Dan stood up and collected their empty plastic containers eventually. “I’m just going to throw these away!” he said, as he swiftly shuffled towards the trash bins.

He enjoyed the silence with himself. There’s not much to see in the park, stopping his eyes from getting distracted and yet having enough space to think. “This didn’t happen in the past.” He reflected, thinking about their slightly eventful day. In comparison, Buffy would be comfortable but this… this was joy.

He could live like this, he decided. Maybe even record more videos here and there, introduce the Seven Second Challenge earlier than usual, and make people actually credit him for once. Hah. Phil might as well do something different. What was the purpose of another shot in life if he’s going do all of it as he’s supposed to be? Wouldn’t it just be a futile attempt to correct the wrong?

Correct the wrong? The words came out of nowhere. His mind didn’t filter through what he was actually thinking. What was wrong? Which wrong did he mean?

His brooding didn’t keep track of time. It took him five minutes to realize that Dan still hadn’t come back. Phil’s sure that the garbage bins were just a few steps away. Worried, he decided to check up on him. Hopefully, he didn’t get mugged in broad daylight. Fortunately, he found him petting a dog. It was a brown corgi, small and thoroughly enjoying Dan’s touch. The leash was held by a man, no older than Phil, who looked quite entertained by the way Dan played with his pet.

It was… a fond look. Too fond for Phil. The man soon crouched too, talking to Dan about something he couldn’t hear because of their position.

Why did it seem so… right? With him by the distance and watching the scene unfold. A mix of relief and confusion sat at the pit of his stomach. His eyebrows were knit.

_What?_

The corgi barked at Dan who continued engaging into conversation with the man while caressing with the dog’s fur. There’s audible laughter. Suddenly, the man’s hand was fussing Dan’s hair. Suddenly, Phil’s expression darkened. Suddenly, there’s a banging sensation on his head.

 _Let him go._ It throbbed, hard and loud on his skull.

 _Let him go._ It repeated, getting louder and louder by each syllable.

 _Let him go_. It went on and on.

 _Let him go._ And Phil remembered.

 _Let him go._ That’s right.

 _Let him go._ This was another chance in life.

 _Let him go._ A promise of doing something different.

 _Let him go._ It became clearer to him now.

_Let him go. **The world didn’t want them together.**_

“Let’s go, Dan!” But Phil Lester did not want that.

“W-where are we going?” With a wrist trapped in a death grip, he tugged him away.

“The Manchester Eye.”

“Isn’t that too far away?”

“If we go now, we could make it to the sunset. I wanted to show you.”

And Dan relented.

They coursed through the rush of people; into the tube and to the park. The adrenaline made it possible to forget the judgmental eyes and focused on the rush of pounding hearts. They walked fast, making Dan lose his breath but Phil didn’t look like he was stopping.

They made it in time for the grand end. There was no line, as if the carousel was waiting all this time. Once they got in, all there was was silence and the desperate catching of breath.

The two sat next to each other. Their eyes were glued to nowhere but the view. Colors were haphazardly tossed to the canvas which was the sky. It felt melancholic, like a painter had decided to release their frustration and this was the result.

Phil winced. He felt more. He felt like it was a mistake. It reminded him of the car ride back home. Of the daunting voice telling him of what he did deserve. Of the end.

Their hands had touched.

Just like this.

“It’s beautiful.” The view from the top of the carousel boasted the placating hues of pink tinged orange and ombre’d blue to black. It overlooked the city below them. Above, the stars are blinking at the distance.

It was fine.

Now, everything was only beginning.

Phil looked at Dan. “I’m sorry for taking you away.”

Soft, pink lips were placed upon his chapped once to say _it’s okay_. It was gentle, careful and radiating. Phil’s hand found his chin, tilting to meet his eyes. He didn’t know what was better: staring into him and finding his reflection or the fact that Dan wasn’t looking away (because it was all he did in the future).

“Take me away again.”

And Phil did just that. He kissed him, the boy he loved, and surely there’s nothing wrong with that.

_There’s nothing wrong, right?_

“Again.” More of a peck than anything else.Chaste and wonderful.

Again. Happy. They smiled through it. Teeth collided from grinning and giggles were stifled from overjoy.

And again.

And again.

They kissed one last time. It was needier than the rest. More passionate. Messy. Intoxicating, in a way.

They kissed until their lips were bitten and numb and gasping for breath. Phil rested his head upon Dan’s shoulder, still. “I’ll never let you go,” he said. “I’ll never let you go, I’ll never let you go, I’ll never let you go…” There’s desperation and promise in his tone, like a mantra he’s going to hold on forever.

“Okay,” Dan said, “Okay.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact this was difficult to write and really wasn't supposed to exist but heck here we go. warnings for implied smut and swearing as always.

“You have to tell them, Dan.” Warm hands are placed upon his cheeks. Mouth on neck. Skin on skin.

He averted his eyes, suddenly finding the dimness of the room more interesting than the glow of his irises. “They don’t have to know…. I mean, I don’t think it’s a really big deal.” Regrets roll off easily as the words do.

“Are you saying that I’m not a big deal, then?” he sighs heavily. “Does any of this matter to you?”

 

3\. years in the life

 

January means small wisps of cold breath escaping from your mouth. It means Dan visiting Phil, making chilly nights less cold and the house less empty. It means laughter and the post-Christmas euphoria. It’s never meant the tense confrontation but Phil’s only resolution is starting the year right and surely this is the way.

“I’m just really not ready.” Dan’s sat on Phil’s bed, fiddling with the hem of his shirt as he makes the same excuse for the nth time.

“Dan,” he begins. “It won’t kill them to tell about us.”

“It will kill me, though.”

And sometimes Phil hates the implication that he will be the end of Dan.

“I’m sorry.” He tries to follow. It really doesn’t help. He stares at the window, the dark abyss of winter evenings lightening the angelic glow blanketing Manchester. It has been his second night here. Tomorrow, he’ll have to go home. He’ll have to face his parents and lie. _I’ve been at a friend’s house_ , he’ll say, _nothing important_.

Dan laughs bitterly. He finds it absolutely disgusting how easily how he can wave him, of all people, off.

Phil sits at their cold floor; shirt clinging loosely but still warm. He sips from his mug in silence, the hot chocolate leaving brown patches on his thin lips. It usually makes the younger boy giggle, but today Dan stares at his naked feet and thinks about the things he should’ve said instead.

That doesn’t help, too.

“I’m sorry.” He repeats. “I’m just… really not ready.”

“It’s okay.” Phil should’ve put more effort in concealing the disappointment in his tone. “I get it. I can wait.” Because he does, really. And he can, but he shouldn’t. So he drinks in painful silence, watching the snow fall and hoping that being kind will overshadow the cons of being right.

He finishes the mug in a strained silence. There’s a pregnant pause and a skipped silence. An ironic smile and a question: “You’re gonna leave me, aren’t you? Discard this half-assed boyfriend who wouldn’t even dare proclaim he’s bi.”

Just like that, Phil’s laced to Dan’s little finger.

The first time it happens, he’s an eighteen year old who doesn’t want any way out. He’s a hiccupping mess of throttled anxiety and insecurity. There’s no one to hold him steady but now Phil’s palms are on his shoulders with the distance closed indefinitely. If it isn’t for his warmth that calms him down, it is the way Phil makes both of their foreheads touch, forcing Dan’s teary eyes to look at his softened ones.

“Look, Dan, I just want them to know, okay? If you don’t want to, it’s really fine. We’re going to move in the pace you want.” He kisses his cheek softly, with safety, caring. “I’m sorry for being impatient. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

And so begins stalling about coming out to his parents. They say only idiots commit the same mistakes twice, but they are two halves of a whole of that.

***

Phil wonders how many more mistakes he’ll make before he’s satisfied.

“Awrf, hi Dan.”

Sometimes he wonders if these are even mistakes at all.

***

Spring’s always made into a metaphor for new beginnings. Maybe it is relevant because Phil begins to grow unsteady. There’s always a coursing state of denial whenever somebody else holds Dan’s hand. It’s a tinge of unjustified jealousy partnered with the fleeting sense of loss.

It starts with the small things— the millisecond touch of a Starbuck’s barista, the stranger on twitter getting one too many replies, a fan posing for a picture closer to what’s comfortable.

It continues with a big thing.

The lingering gaze of the Chinese restaurant’s waitress was easy to catch under the paper lamp lightings of Sweet Mandarin. Her red work clothes clung tightly to her ribbon-like body, the breasts flattering and boastful.

“What can I get you?”

The nametag reads Irene.

“We’ll have a Cantonese fillet steak and a lemon chicken deluxe.” Choices are always easy to make, but hard to swallow.

“And sweet potato fries,” Dan intervenes. Irene gives him a smile not present to Phil.

“For the drinks?” She prompts.

“Just water, please,” Phil hurriedly says. Dan gives him a look, but doesn’t say anything.

“Is that all?” They nod in unison. Irene throws a wink as she traipses away and Phil evidently catches Dan’s hand, telling her to fuck off with a sly smile. Not like she can see his actions nor hear his muted words.

“What was that for?” Dan asks, not really angry, albeit confused.

Phil internally panics, his hand still sitting on Dan’s. “What was what for?” He tries not to sound so scared.

Public displays of affection, however subtle, means a Dan not talking to him for ages and a scornful exchange of non-existent slurs only understandable to them. ‘We’ve got to be careful, Phil.’ He’ll say in a voice so strained and pleading. ‘You know how it is.’

He readies himself for a minor explosion, a panicked face, a retreating hand or two.

Instead he says; “I thought we were going to drink.” Phil heaved a sigh of relief. Maybe the days of traumatic explosions requisite of careless actions are still far ahead of them. He thanks all the gods for it.

“We can just go home. I have some at my place.” Phil bites his tongue at the lie. Paycheck’s a week away, his wallet’s empty and the only reason they’re here is because Phil wants Dan to be happy and thus results in a negative account.

Dan quirks a rather accusing eyebrow, “You don’t, Phil. You literally suggested going here because you wanted a drink. I suggested takeaway but you were like, ‘hey, I really want a margarita’,”

Irene passes over them and throws another cheeky wink at Dan’s direction.

 _But hey, I really don’t want someone else flirting with you._ “I lost my appetite.”

He’s glad that Dan doesn’t push it, like he already knows what’s getting under his skin.

“We really should’ve just called, I could’ve been kicking your noob butt in Mario kart right now.”

“Like you can,”

“We know I can.”

They both know he can.

Irene returns, serving disrespect with a phone number on the tray. Her deep-hued lips smacking as she leaves with voices penetrating Phil’s head, chanting _let him go, let him go_. It’s like nail digging into deep cement, hard enough to crack but never too much to break.

Sometimes Phil just wants to break. Sometimes he wants to let go and be a perpetual crumble as the world stands high and mighty above him. Sometimes he wants to decapitate like a too-ripe fruit doing a freefall of its tree and just. Kapow.

But he can’t— he can’t do that to Dan.

His eyebrows are knit, his breathing unsteady and his head throbbing.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he struggles to say. “Just eat fast, please.” The food sickens him. It looks like a view of unworldly goo of some description. “Please,”

Dan eats swiftly as per request. Phil regains his composure, hand stuck on his head and a swirling sensation threatening the bile on his throat.

“How do you like it?” The waitress has decided to stop over their table again.

“Delicious,” Dan feigns a smile.

“Do you know what’s even more delicious?”

And Phil loses it. He slams his palm on the plastic table, its thin legs not enough to support the weight of his hands partnered by frustration.

“Please fuck off,” Phil smiles at her, saccharine sweet. He does his only known method of coping, taking Dan away and escape.

“I can take care of myself, Phil. I’m not a—“

“I know, I know, it’s just,” He reaches out for the words. “I’m sorry.”

There are a thousand things he’ll rather apologize for but loving Dan Howell is not one of them.

(In the distance: “Irene, I’ve told you a thousand times! Sex appeal is not the way to advertise our promo!”)

***

 “You really love him, don’t you?” Pj’s helping Phil set-up the green screen, their arms wobbling and legs in equal predisposition. They clearly aren’t built for this task.

“I thought the answer was obvious.”

“It is. I just wanted for you to say it,” He smiles cheekily. “For scientific purposes only.”

There’s a stutter, several marks on the wall due to the process and much fumbling with the equipment. “Yeah, yeah I do.” Phil snorts. With Peej, there’s always much fumbling with the equipment, much fumbling about everything.

“Ooohh, but does he feel the same?”

Phil doesn’t miss a heartbeat. “I’m most certain.”

The two hurriedly place the screen at the living room, the camera and other paraphernalia already at their places, courtesy of Dan and Chris. The space is in shambles, dismembered and made to fit again. Forts hang on the sofa, several flags in several places.

For some reason, there’s a head of a toy horse in the middle of everything, dramatic like the scene in Godfather.

The four are dressed up in awfully homemade costumes to portray medieval times— there’s an array of forks and spoons on Chris’ chest and a colander sitting on his head while Phil fashioned a blanket a la makeshift king. No one will have guessed it’s a twenty-something’s idea. If anything, it looks like a babysitting gone wrong.

 “Welcome to another clicking adventure from the fantastic foursome!”

“Fantastic foursome. Really. Are we actually going to call ourselves that?”

“Stop whining or my sword will be up your throat in no time.”

“That’s not the only sword he’s had on his throat.”

“I appreciate the humor but can we keep the wordplay PG-13?”

“Don’t call it a foursome then!”

Phil wonders if he could at least save this. The laughter, the videos, the title— Peej and Chris.

***

 **From** : Bear

_Congrats on 100,000 subscribers!! :D You deserve it!!_

**From:** Lion

_Celebratory skype call?_

**From:** Bear

_Quite busy…_

**From:** Lion

_Celebratory skype sex? ;)_

**From:** Bear

_I could make time._

***

 _Life isn’t that horrible,_ Phil often tries to reassure himself. Of course, there are days when Dan’s at uni, and Phil’s alone in his thoughts, and strangers come into his flat and life just has to prove itself otherwise.

“That guy’s too possessive. He tweeted me a hands off when I picked to marry you in a round of fmk.”

He really doesn’t have time for this. He’s too busy wallowing in the thoughts of Why-Am-I-Here and why-did-this-happen, too busy questioning the grand scheme of the universe while at the dark corridors of his apartment. Very Dan-like.

“He’s my boyfriend,” he reasons. “He gets jealous easily. You and I know that.” He looks at him, face crumpled and teeth gritted. He doesn’t want to see it, so he looks away.

“But it was a bloody joke!”

“He didn’t think so.”

“More reasons to leave him, then.”

And then, he hears it.

_Go with him._

Goddamn. He really doesn’t get a break, does he?

“More like, more reasons for you to fuck off.” Phil spat, glaring. All his willpower is pouring out while being pounded out of it. “I’m not an idiot. You’re pinning for me. It’s dead obvious—“

 _Go with him._ The voice is the same but it sounded so broken, so forced and yet melodic at the same time. It’s what temptation sounded like if it takes an auditory form. Soothing and relaxing that his legs are wobbling and his clenching fists come loose.

“But he’s a piece of shit!”

“Fuck.” He gets teary-eyed. “Just stop, okay? I don’t like you. At least, not anymore.”

 _Go with him._ He doesn’t think it’ll be this hard, this suffocating to love someone. He is prepared for pain, for the long endurance run of trials but this… he isn’t prepared for _this_. He isn’t prepared for a universal intervention nor a goddamn divine sanction given by the gods themselves.

“He isolated you from your friends!” He screams, “You could’ve picked a better fucking person! He doesn’t deserve you!”

_Go with him._

_Go with him._

_Go—_

“Go the fuck away, Charlie!”

***

 

“A lion doesn’t look like a king of the forest when it cries, Phil.” He twirls his hair onto his finger, the black locks soft under his tan touch.

“But a lion’s gotta cry sometimes too.” Tears come rolling down like an abandoned faucet.

He wipes it again and again. “Yeah, yeah. I guess so.” Dan wonders what words can turn off the tap.

***

Dan doesn’t want to do this anymore, but he continues to. After all, his parents expect him to stay in university. Then again, he is born a boy and his parents expect him to like girls. At least you can swing both ways in sexual preferences. Too bad you can only get on or off the swing of the uni life.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, mate.” Chris’ hand is firmly patting Dan’s back. “Another one, please.” He signals the bartender, the man shaking his head as he refills their shot glass.

“Even if I’m not hard on myself, everything else is.” The younger man whines. He looks like he belongs to the pub. His sultry face and melancholic behavior, a dash of brokenness and just a sprinkle, if not sliver, of hope. He’s the bottom of Pandora’s box, probably. Closed off, scared. Maybe he’s Pandora himself. Guilty, caught red-handed. He’s all of this and yet a pub at the same time. Buzzing, tipsy and willing to share. “Everything’s so hard. Hard. Hard. Ugh. So fucking _hard_.”

 “Stop being so melodramatic.” Chris necks the drink in one gulp, the liquid fiery as it goes down his throat. He pushes the other glass to Dan, who could only do the same albeit dejected. He lets out a pained sigh as he downs the alcohol.

“I sometimes feel guilty, you know,” He starts. “to Phil. It’s like I keep on leeching and depending on him. I don’t even go to my dorm anymore; I just hang around his flat. And now I want to quit university and I’ll… probably be thrown out.” It’s him who asks for a refill this time. “And who will I go to? Phil. Phil. Phil. I’m like a child he needs to take care of. I don’t want to be a child that needs to be taken care of.”

“You can stay at mine?” He offers in vanity. He can, Chris knows that. But he won’t.

“No.” He slurs. “I’ll just keep on coming back to Phil.”

And that’s exactly the reason.

“I know.”

The glasses clink and Dan lets out a sob. “I feel so pathetic, you know? I want to be someone to him, someone that can help him but all I’ve ever been is two tons of self-imposed baggage so willing to be carried around. Damn, Chris, that’s all I have ever been to anyone isn’t it?” He sounds so hysterical now, his tears more evident and the hiccups starting to form.

“You aren’t, Dan.” Chris tries to offer again, but he doesn’t take the bait.

“I am.”

“You aren’t. You help us, Dan. I’ve never seen Phil so happy ever since you—“

“You probably never saw him so sad either!” He practically screams. “I see him, Chris! I see him at mornings and nights and he cries sometimes. He cries, Chris! Like he fucking can’t handle this anymore and I feel like I am the _this_ that he can’t handle anymore. I can’t handle him not handling it anymore but at the same time I want him to handle it, because I am _it_. And no matter how many times I say I don’t want him to suffer, I’ll still be the heaviness on his shoulders.”

“You aren’t his problem. You’re not a problem. Sober up, mate. Get yourself together.”

“He fucking broke his piggybank for me. He tries to get days off often. Phil, he, I— I make him do things he’s better off not doing.”

“Listen to me—”

“No I won’t! All you do is lie, Chris!” He shouts. “Trying to convince me to go up, up, up when I’m a fucking weigh down!”

The older man catches his forehead on the cup of his hand, sighing sadly. “Lying isn’t all I do, Dan. I care for you, I think of the people around me.”

“You lie with a cause, then.”

“Not that.” He says calmly, like he isn’t a deer caught in a headlight. Like he isn’t in front of an exploding grenade, like he isn’t about to threaten his friend with carefully sanitized words and sugared implications. “And he does it because he loves you.”

“I—“

“There you are!” Phil suddenly emerges from nowhere. His clothes were layers and layers and layers of threads, but it was nothing to the smile he wore. It’s the usual, almost-smirk partnered with eyes of mirth. He looks at him like that day at the station, not like he’s just seen his boyfriend go ballistic in a public place. “Let’s go home, Dan.”

Then he finally bursts into tears. It’s rolling and his breath is steaming up and he, he can’t breathe. The smoky atmosphere of the pub finally catches up with his throat.

“I— Do you love me?”

“I’ve always.” Then suddenly, he can. As Phil envelopes his arms around him, as he feels safe as Phil repeats; “Let’s go home.”

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

He doesn’t look like he belongs to the pub anymore. No. He belongs to Phil.

“I feel like I’ve always loved you too.”

***

"I can't believe we're going to Jamaica!" The airplane seats are almost always too big for Dan, but with Phil next to him it's almost too much.

"I can't believe I'm hanging out with kids." Chris rolled his eyes fondly, stopping the cartlady for a jellybean snack.

Peej snorts. "Sorry, grandpa." 

Jamaica was a golden excuse for a beach trip. With the quartet being invited by Xacti via e-mail with the catch of advertising their product, they couldn't stay no. Days were spent upon boat rides and cliff jumps, the whole world feeling like nails on the tip of their fingers. Phil dived and saw the world underneath, Dan looked up to greet the universe above him. Peej swam, looking, seeing and absorbing how beautiful the world can be while Chris bathed under the glimmer of the all-powerful sun. They sung and danced and alcohol was spread and everyone was spent. In the blurry haze of it all they felt like kings, there was kissing and laughing and believing that they can do whatever they wanted.

And they did.

***

The door of Dan’s house never felt as big today. It feels like it can eclipse the moon if it wanted to.

“So,”

“So,” Phil mirrors.

“Ready to meet my parents?”

“Let’s do this.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is unbeta-ed. if you see any typos or grammatical errors please feel free to point them out. warning for swearing and sadness i mean that's what u signed up for right. also disclaimer if u feel disgusted while reading this i take no blame.

The cold weather of Britain was depressing in more ways than one. Rain pounded on their window, bit by bit and all too slow. It was a pleasant, in a way.

4\. cooling off, heated

"Phil, with our channels booming and all... I think we should cool off."   
  
Dan had proposed during one lazy evening. They were lounging in the living room with laptops in respective positions. “I’ve been thinking about it…. And I think it will be good for both of us. I just dropped out of uni and started focusing on YouTube. Plus, my parents almost disowned me. Then you, you just reached a million subscribers! Which is great and all but like super demanding as well, so…” He tapped on his keyboard nervously, doubting himself as he spoke.

Phil had seen this coming, of course. “Sure,” he shrugged. He wasn’t one to strangle and deprive him of personal space. They’d still be together after all. He’d know.

“Okay,” Dan’s eyebrows were knit in a sort of frustration as he focused to his laptop, sighing as he viewed another e-mail from his parents. “I guess.” He was, in the slightest bit, taken aback on how well Phil took it. Somehow, he expected Phil to tell him that this is a time to stick together, to be strong for each other and all of that cheesy crap. (He had, but that was a lifetime ago.)

An easy silence fell upon their living room. It had only been half a year since the relationship reveal, four months since Dan moved in and three days after the dropout. It was heavy to handle, but they got through.

_Are you sure?_ Dan almost asked minutes later, but the supposed recipient of his query was too focused with a hamster video, its paws hanging up the air as it tried to reach for food. Instead of questioning him, he had turned to give a fond look instead. _Typical Phil_ , he didn’t say.

That night was the first time they didn’t sleep on the same bed for a long while. On Dan’s side was a constant and unending pacing around the room, making Phil lose the privilege of peaceful rest. The older man would even hear murmurs when the heavy feet aren’t as loud. It was unintelligible, but there. Wisps of ‘regret’ and an overloading questions of why that never got through the opposite side of the wall. Sometimes, strangled moans and heavy breathing were present. Gasps and whining all too familiar, bringing back the figure that used to be underneath him— writhing in pleasure tangled with the mattress, hair fumbled into different places and ending in a relieving exhale of release. Phil felt guilty to think so but Dan’s noise can fill the empty space of his almost too-big bed.

_Let him go, Phil._ He’d dream of that, too.

Mornings were more difficult to handle. Going home from errands and expecting a kiss or two would always end in disappointment. There was no more hot afternoon cuddling nor massages used as an excuse to touch, only tiny hand brushing and a pretense that it didn’t happen. Only shams of a temporary breakup with two people still undoubtedly together.

“Coffee?” He’d ask.

“Sure.” Three teaspoons of creamer and one cube of sugar. Always.

Come a month later, Phil’s doing his regular check of e-mails when something from the BBC catches his attention: an invitation to substitute for a vacationing DJ. Sarah, a recruiter, had given them details about a primetime slot up for grabs. Apparently, the e-mail said, ‘being on the internet was a thing’ and ‘we’d like to see how it goes.’

Expectant and giddy despite knowing it would happen, he replied as fast as he can. Maybe they can even score this one for their own, he thinks. He’s got five years of experience to show for it. Phil cracks a smile. For the first time, it felt like he was cheating on life, not cheated on life.

_Dear Sarah,_

_Good Evening! We would like to accept…_

***

“Are you sure, Phil?” They were having this conversation for the umpteenth time. It was a bad move to say yes to the preposition without asking Dan’s opinion. It had only been yesterday, but Phil’s pretty convinced they’ve been talking about this for more than 48 hours.

“We can do this, Dan!” he had assured and reassured him time and time again. “It’s not that hard, I promise. Just do what we do on videos.”

“What if we mess up? There’s literally a hundred reasons why we will—“

“There’s a million more of why we won’t. Trust me.”

So days passed and they're at the BBC, done with the script and briefed about what they needed to do. Sarah, their recruiter, had wished them luck two minutes earlier, clapping their shoulders before heading off.

"What if I press the wrong buttons! Phil, have you seen the studio? It looks like a fucking rocketship!" Dan panicked, as he tried to memorize their dialogues as much as he could.

"You've never even seen a rocketship before." Phil, who was completely at ease, quirked a curious eyebrow.

"But I can hypothesize that it has at least that many buttons."

He laughed, but it didn't do much to calm Dan's nerves.

"Why do you seem so confident about this?"

"I don't know." Phil feigned ignorance, grabbed their script and pretending to read through. "I mean, I'm not the one having to deal with the 'no swearing' rule."

"Fuck."

With Dan’s constant nervous breakdowns and Phil calming him, the minutes had passed. The two soon got called to the studio. They stood up in a synchronized beat and walked side by side in a trained and synchronized motion.

"Remember, keep it casual." Their recruiter had reminded them. "We don't expect you to do it exceptionally well. No pressure."

Dan's anxiety only grew by the second and Phil wanted so much to hold his hand and tell him _it’s fine_ , but he remembered about cooling off and giving space and maybe that was what he needed most.

The recorder soon reeled. Dan felt like he's going to puke. Even after reading the script so many times, there's still a nagging sensation telling him something's bound to go wrong.

"We are Dan and Phil of the internet!" They got through the first phrase effortless. A practiced sentence, a constant brand of being together. Phil smiled at Dan ( _we can do this_ ) and Dan smiled at Phil ( _with you, maybe_ ). It wasn’t long until they caught up with themselves, throwing banter and countless repartees, the two played songs while simultaneously being entertaining.

"And that was 2012 by apl.de.ap! What would you do if it was the end of the world, Phil?" He stared at his friend, smiling broadly as 2012 fades to an end.

"Kiss all the dogs at the road, eat all of the waffles I can, go to America and declare my kingship to the universe!"

Dan laughed. "Of course you will."

"How about you, Dan?" he smiled. "Got anything on the bucket list before it all ends?"

"Yeah, maybe." he said. "I'd call the most important person in the world."

"Who?"

"The king."

He took a while to understand.

The first segment rolled in. A random caller was supposed to pick a song of their choice. Dan had volunteered to answer, had pressed a circular button and adjusted the caller volume. _He can do this_ , he tells himself. _Everything's been going smoothly._

"Hello, what's your name?" beeps were heard from the other end. "Hello? Please speak up. We can't hear you." There was a slight pause and Phil immediately signaled the difficulty to the radio people. They got the message and began identifying the source of problem.

"Hello?" he greeted again. Nothing. “Ple—“

Another person comes bursting in, he looked important judging from the number of ID's that hung on his neck and the way Sarah and the others bowed to greet him.

"Your call got redirected to another station!" he hissed, eyes glared and fume actually coming out of his head. “Cancel it now!”

"Shit!" Dan swore as he fumbled with the controls while spitting profanities at himself at the same time. His fingers were shaking; eyes threatened to give out tears and everything suddenly looking alike and is it because he’s nervous or the pool welling in his eyes? Dan didn’t know, but he’s well damn sure that he broke Phil’s chance in this industry. There’s a thousand thoughts suddenly crashing down and the most important one was that _holy shit,_ _I broke Phil’s chance in the industry— I don’t deserve this, I should never have agreed and—_

"Sorry, we're having some technical issues!" He quickly improvised, pressing random sound effects to seem convincing. "Here is Fireflies by Owl City."

_—_ and he saves him yet again.

Dan couldn't speak clearly after that. More specifically, he wouldn't speak at all. Every time he tried to comment, he got his tongue tied or it all turned into inaudible whispers. He doesn't know what's worse.

The session comes to an end with the duo embarrassed to a point of regret. They were instructed to wait on the lounge and the two sat next to each other as the radio people went with their evaluation.

Maybe they were a few months early for this, Phil decided as he gazed at Dan with a sympathetic frown. He was looking down on his feet, trying to avoid any sort of eye contact. They could both hear the guy from earlier letting out a colorful string of words from the meeting room.

"I thought they were fucking professionals!" his voice boomed. "This is what we get for inviting people on the internet!"

"I'm sorry, sir." A woman quietly apologized. From the quaint voice, Phil immediately realized it was Sarah.

"Were they on youtube or youporn? Because they sound like bitches to my ears and looked like twinks to my eyes. Especially the brown-haired one."

Dan couldn't help but let out a small sob. Phil wanted to hug him, but was that crossing the line? He patted his back instead, trying to soothe him. He then proceeded to close the slightly ajar door to keep out the sounds from inside.

A few minutes later, their recruiter came out of the room with an apologetic smile on her face. "I'm so sorry you had to hear all that."

Phil sighed. "It's fine." Dan had gone completely silent at this point.

She grabbed their shoulders and gave it a squeeze. "Fortunately, you have a second chance!" she beamed. "It was only a tiny mistake. Your overall performance was great."

Phil stared at her in disbelief. Dan continued to sulk. Tiny mistake didn't sound like it, but they nodded to continue.

"Just another try, yeah? It'll be next Thursday, two whole weeks from now. Primetime slot of 7:00 pm. Get it perfect and you'll earn a job!"

"Really?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yep. Convinced the old grump about. We've been wanting a show with internet stars and no one fits the bill better than an English major and an articulated young man."

Dan finally looked up. "Who unfortunately comes from youporn." He remarked snarkily, rolling his eyes.

"I found it funny to be honest." Sarah shrugged. "Who knew he watches gay porno? Seems like blackmail material to me."

The both of them laughed. The three had chatted for a while before bidding their goodbyes. Sarah had reminded them about their next radio presentation before she let them go. After a few agreements and clarifications, they were ready to head home.

"Wait," Dan suddenly said, stopping their tracks. "I'll be right back." He walked into the building again, leaving a curious Phil on his own for a few minutes.

A picture or two later, Dan came back with a huge grin plastered on his face. Albeit itching to, Phil didn't question as he hailed the taxi for home. Once inside, Dan tried hard to make conversation.

“Sarah’s nice, isn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s funny and kind and reassuring.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

**

"I'm going out!"

It was Tuesday. It's the fifth consecutive day Dan's been going out with no apparent reason, leaving Phil to handle their script and segment ideas to deal with alone. He didn't like this at all.

“Okay.” Not okay. But he’s not going to be a bitch about it. Not yet.

Phil trailed him. He silently followed him through the streets of Manchester in his least inconspicuous of clothes. They passed by different lots and a few landmarks. There are streets he knew by heart. It didn't take too long to notice that the route wasn't unfamiliar, and Phil knew why. They were walking into Shakaway.

He went in and sat next to someone with blonde hair and tiny build. It was difficult to see from where he stood, but he knew it was Sarah. They've spent long enough of a time to recognize each other in one look.

It suddenly felt cold. He doesn't know if it was the weather or just his heart. Phil winced at the juvenile comparison.

The pair ordered while Phil inched closer, plopping himself on the corner table. He was close enough to hear their conversation but far enough to go unnoticed. Probably.

"Thanks for meeting me here."

"You say that every day, Dan!" Sarah smiled.

He sat silently, watching the two interact. Their voices became hushed mumbles and Dan begins to go all smiley and happy. He's blushing, too, apparently, from something Sarah had said.

"You look pretty as always." Dan had said. "Actually, you look prettier every passing day." He pushed away a stray lock of blonde hair from her face.

"Why thank you!" she gushed. "You look stunning yourself, Howell."

Alright, he tried to calm himself. Alright. There's nothing wrong about exchanging compliments with friends.

They giggled and laughed and soon stood up to go to another location. Phil's eyes followed as the two walked closely, like they're glued to each other. He sees Dan's hand inch closer until their fingers intertwine. He sees her rest her neck to the nook of his neck. Phil hopes his vision was just failing him. He hopes his eyes were just blurry from the tears.

He stands up and walks away feebly, holding on to anything he could find until he got home.

Was this why Dan wanted to cool off? So he could flirt with other people without feeling guilty? Phil wanted to believe that he's just strangled with everything right now. That he's trying to take a break from stress, that he's lessening the workload. Surely he shouldn't have time for that.

In the cloudiness of his head, the gasped at the false realization.  _Him_. The man in his dreams.

He's tearing them apart. He's not waiting for Phil to let go anymore. He's doing it himself.

_That bastard._

So that's why the situation has turned worse for worst. This wasn't the doing of a man, but a more powerful being, he decides. Someone who's so willing to break them up too much he's using Dan against him.

_No way I'm giving up._

Phil reached their flat in grueling effort. His heart was pounding on his chest. His head was throbbing. He wasn't thinking right. All he could ever think is _Dan, Dan, Dan._

His hand shook as he opens up his laptop. He's willing to risk every measure. He was going to do it.

He stops.

Do I really want to do this? _It had rendered Dan vulnerable at the first time_ , a part of him says. _But it made him come back to you._ The bigger, majority of his being convinced.

The macbook blinks twice. He opens up google chrome and logged in to his side channel.

Dan will cry. They'll probably fight. It will take too long to patch up.

Albeit the selfishness of it all, Phil decides it will be worth it.

He clicked unprivate.

**

"I'm back!" Dan announced, barging into the room and plopping himself next to Phil. He had two cups of Starbucks on his hand. He gave the other one to the older man, who was watching the news before turning off the TV upon his arrival.

Caramel macchiato. Of _fucking_ course. Phil gave an appreciative hum as he took a sip. It was bitter and slightly sweet. Hot, just how he liked it. He waited until the younger man got comfy, setting his phone down and stretching as he plops himself next to Phil.

"Dan," he addressed. "Where have you been going?" He was going to expose him today, no matter how much he knows they’re both going to hate it.

He was slightly startled. "Nowhere important." He finished his half-empty cup and stood up to throw it away but Phil grabbed his wrist in a death grip. “Really, I’m saying the truth.”

"Sure you are." He said, voice low and demanding. “Tell me, Dan. Where have you been going?”

“Why does it matter? You didn’t seem to ask me the last few days.”

“Would you rather have me ignoring this or actually caring?”

“You’ve been seeming fine then.”

“And you’ve been seeming distant.” Phil’s drink spilled as he trembles, fists clenching into the once solid container now a crumpled cup. He puts it down, the liquid burning into his palms but the adrenaline ceasing him to mind.

"I can be distant? It’s not like we’re together or anything." The cocky attitude was getting into him. Phil wanted Dan to just spill it out and over with.

“Bullshit. We are.” He says as though a fact.

“No,” Dan objects. “Not anymore.”

Those words took all the strength off Phil. His grip now loose as everything drains away from his system. _Not anymore, huh?_ Dan walks while he can. He shoots an almost regretful gaze but trots ahead into his room.

Phil rushes forward and stops the door before Dan can bang it on his face. “I thought you wanted to have a break, Dan. Not a breakup.”

“Well,” He heaves a painfully distant sigh. “I thought I wanted you.”

Phil might just cry then and there. This was the first time he’s heard those words come out of his mouth. It felt like a thousand needles shoved up against his throat, or a billion ants running up his body. He’d prefer those rather than _this_. “Is it because of Sarah?” He asks meekly.

“What does she have to do with any of this?”

“I saw you two earlier.” If he tries hard enough, Phil could look up at Dan and maybe he can still see the universe instead of his sad reflection. “Been seeing her often, I suppose? I mean, from how you looked earlier.”

“I actually asked her so I could train for the BBC. There’s nothing between us.” He supplied.

“I don’t see how holding hands was nothing.”

“It was a friendly gesture.”

“I don’t see how resting her head to your shoulder was a friendly gesture.”

“It was all because of you.” He tsked. "I'm not listening to any of this. Don’t talk to me for now." He brushes his hand off Phil's hold to the door and Phil could only limp away.  Dan left to search for his phone, locating it on top of the table. He reaches and unlocks. There's a billion notifications from youtube. His inbox was full. E-mails all held the same content. At first, there was silence. Then he looked up at him. His voice was almost inaudible as his eyes had gone wide. "Why is the fucking video public?"

All air had been sucked out of the room, if there was even any left. There's anger and hatred and jealousy all boiling at the pit of his stomach. Tears were already falling. He couldn't get himself to lie now. 'Youtube accidentally unprivated it'. No-

"I wanted the whole world to know you're mine, but frankly it doesn’t seem like the case."


End file.
